by Shana Abe
“Oh,” said Sophia. She bit her lip. “We don’t have to discuss it, Mandy.”
“No, we don’t,” I agreed. I stuck the wad of paper in my pocket. “Was there anything else? I have to say, you’re looking a bit peaked, Lord Armand. It’d be such a pity if you took ill. Perhaps you should go have a rest.”
“I feel fantastic,” he said, and turned around and left.
Sophia waited until he was no longer in view. “You might be kinder to him.”
“Pardon?”
“His father’s illness isn’t Armand’s fault.”
Empathy from Lady Sophia. Was it snowing in hell right now?
“I know that,” I said.
“It’s a shame you’ve been drawn into it, but sometimes parents do things well beyond our control. Queer things. Reckless things. It’s not his fault,” she said again.
I touched her on the arm. “Sophia. I know.”
She shrugged me off. “Good.”
I returned my attention to the table, to the tiresome, interminable strips of cloth waiting to be transformed into useful rolls. Sophia walked to the tea service and stood there without reaching for any of it.
“They hadn’t any money when he met her,” she said suddenly, not looking at me. “I mean, none. Just bloodlines and a bankrupt estate and I must suppose some sort of womanly charm to lure him in. And it worked. He was lured, hook, line, and sinker. And they married and she and Chloe moved in and every day after that became some version of Of course you must call her Mamá, since she’s your mother now. Just forget about your old one, and If Chloe prefers your room to hers, then you must let her have it. Or your riding pony. Or your hair ribbons. Or your favorite necklace. Because we want her to feel like part of the family, don’t we, pet?”
“I’d kill her before I’d let her have my pony,” I said after a moment.
“Yes!” A hand raised; she wiped at her eyes. “I considered it. But I thought they’d know it was me.”
“Truly? It seems to me there must be any number of people out there happy to strangle your stepsister.”
She let out a watery laugh. “There are two of us, at least.”
“Cheers to that. Pour me some tea, will you?”
“All right.”
The final stages of our plan required a late-night consultation over maps and nautical charts. Armand had managed to procure ones far better than anything I’d discovered at Iverson. We needed maps for England, France, the Netherlands, Belgium, and the German Empire, which included Prussia. Towns, geography, trenches. He’d even found an etching of the Schloss des Mondes ruin itself in an old travel journal in Tranquility’s library. Apparently tourists a century ago found decaying castles incredibly romantic.
Altogether, the floor in front of his bedroom fireplace and a good deal more beyond was covered in paper. I studied them from my hands and knees, the gray blanket wrapped and knotted at my chest.
I traced my fingers along one of the trench maps, which showed the battle lines of the front, along with inked-in dates. Dotted red lines for us. Solid blue ones for the Huns. The most recent date was five days ago.
“Where did you get this one? Are people just allowed to have these?”
“Don’t ask, and no. But I’m not people. I’m sure the colonel won’t miss it for a few hours. He should have locked his desk.”
My lips wanted to smile; I fought for a straight face. “Larceny. I’d say I fear for the state of your character, but I’m rather too impressed.”
Armand didn’t look up, anyhow. “Thank you very much. But look here, Lora. See?” He poked at some town in Belgium with a name I couldn’t pronounce. “I think that even if we take our time, we can make it to here by the first morning. It’s far enough from the front to probably be safe, and rural enough that we can find a barn to hole up in during the day.”
“A barn,” I said, unenthusiastic. “Sounds comfortable.”
Now he glanced at me. “We could try for an empty house. But if it’s empty, there’s probably a good reason for it. Like Germans nearby.”
“No, I love barns. Horse sweat and all that prickly hay. Let’s do that.”
“I’m only being practical.”
“Can’t we fly it all in one night?”
“No.” His finger drew a new line across the papers, traveling across the Netherlands and most of the German Empire before getting to East Prussia. “We have to get all the way over here, and once we’re there, we’ll need to be ready for whatever comes. Even if you fly at top speed—and I have no idea what that might actually be—you’ll end up worn out and hungry just as we’ve landed in the heart of enemy territory. We’ll need stay alert at all times, but especially then. If you’re too fatigued, it won’t do anyone any good.”
“Speaking of that.” I sat down upon a portion of Berlin, crackling the paper. “I wasn’t jesting before. You look … I don’t know. Not quite yourself.”
“I told you. I feel fine.”
“You don’t look it,” I stressed. “I’d say you look like you have a fever, except you aren’t flushed. But your eyes are strange. They’re too bright. And your complexion is paler than ever.”
“Eleanore—”
“No. If you’re ill, or even just coming down with a cold, it might be the thing that destroys us both. You’re the one preaching about safety. I couldn’t agree more. We need every advantage, and you out of sorts is not that.”
He sat back, somehow managing to avoid all of the scattered papers. He sent me a long, level stare; firelight draped him in orange and black, fiendish dancing shadows. “I swear to you. I feel fine.”
I waited but he didn’t back down, so I surrendered, lifting a hand.
“We’ll need—”
Someone knocked on the door.
We both jolted in place, startled, and then the knob turned and the door opened and Chloe was saying, “Mandy?” in a soft, sweet voice.
I Turned to smoke. My blanket fell in a puff across the maps.
“Are you awake?” she asked, coming all the way in, so of course she could see that he was.
She wore a dressing gown of brick-red damask trimmed with jet beads. It was tightly wrapped and belted and covered her from throat to toes, but she still managed to make it look alluring. Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, suggesting bed and desire and forbidden all at once.
Armand had climbed to his feet. He, at least, was fully dressed, all the way down to his polished shoes. If she thought that peculiar, she didn’t say so.
I lingered near the top of the hearth, making myself as thin as possible.
“Forgive me,” Chloe said. She smiled, tremulous. “I know it’s frightfully scandalous of me to come up to your room like this. But I—I had to see you.”
Armand threw a nervous glance in my direction. “It’s late.”
“After two, actually. I couldn’t sleep.” She walked closer, noticed the maps on the floor. “What’s this?”
He bent down, scooped up all the ones he could reach, and snapped them into a pile. “Nothing. Just some research.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Chloe.” Exasperation crept into his tone. “Why are you here?”
She went stock still, her hands clasped before her as if in supplication. Her eyes got bigger and bigger; it almost appeared as if she would cry.
“Don’t you know?” she asked, hushed. “After all these years, don’t you know?”
Apparently he did. He took a step toward her but then stopped, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t say that. Don’t say it.”
“Listen, I—”
“No!” A single tear leaked down her cheek, perfect as a dewdrop. “Everything can still be fine between us. I know you have this—infatuation—with Eleanore. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I can accept it. Temporarily. Gentlemen have all sorts of wants, I realize that. Sometimes they make sense and sometimes they don’t
, but even Mamá tells me it is our duty as wives to—to accommodate.” Her fingers began a slow, painful twisting upon themselves. “So I will, Armand. I swear to you I will. You can have me and her. And I won’t ask you about it, and I won’t bother you about it. Just—please, Mandy. I’ve loved you since we were twelve years old. Since the day we met. The hour. The very minute.” Another tear. Another. “How can that mean nothing to you?”
She was weeping openly now, doing it just as beautifully as she did everything else. Her nose was barely pink and her eyes glistened like jewels, and she never moved otherwise. Just her hands, twisting and twisting.
So he went to her, and stilled her by cupping his fingers over hers.
“Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”
She tilted her face to his. “I don’t want better! I only want you.”
“How could you want to marry a man who thought so little of you that he’d keep you at home while chasing someone else?”
“It’s not little. It’s how it is!”
“Not for us. Not for me, and, I hope, not for you. You deserve someone who loves you without conditions. Who would never look at another woman for the rest of his life with anything but indifference, because you are the sum of his dreams. The one girl whose eyes shine with all the days and nights he prays will come. His stars and his sun and his moon. His happiness, his true heart.” His voice roughened. “His everything.”
She gazed up at him, her lips trembling. “Is that it? Is that how you feel about her?”
“Yes,” he said, and dropped his hands.
She swallowed, looked around. Gave a pained nod. She licked the tears from her lips and turned about, walking back to the door.
Opening it, passing though. Closing it.
He only watched her go.
I hesitated, then poured back into my human shape. I picked up my blanket and held it to my chest.
“Armand …”
“Not now, Eleanore.” He spoke to the wall; I was granted only his profile, chiseled against the shadows. “Let’s continue this tomorrow.”
“I—”
“Tomorrow. Please.”
I nodded, realized he couldn’t see it, and murmured, “As you wish.”
Then, just as Chloe had done, I slunk out of the room.
Chapter 19
I didn’t run into him the next morning or afternoon. I didn’t seek him out, though, figuring it a good idea to allow him his peace. Just remembering what he’d said about me to Chloe made me feel hot and awkward and disturbingly exhilarated. I knew I likely needed some time away from him as well.
… his stars and his sun and his moon …
Had he really meant for me to hear all that? How was I going look him in the eyes now?
In any case, I didn’t need him for the next part of our plan.
All I needed was Lottie Clayworth.
It was well known that Lady Clayworth enjoyed midday sherry and sandwiches in the gardens if the weather was satisfactory. A pair of footmen set up a table for her in the same spot at the same time every day, and sure enough, that’s where I found her: in a gazebo beneath a massive, droopy plum tree gravid with purple-frosted fruit, eating and drinking in regal isolation as various men and their nurses crisscrossed the grounds to take in the air.
I approached the gazebo with confident steps. It was important that anyone watching believe I was welcome.
“Good afternoon, Lady Clayworth.”
She peered up at me from beneath the brim of a hat adorned with stuffed canaries, a cucumber sandwich paused halfway to her mouth.
“Who are you?”
I put on my best you-can-trust-me smile. “Miss Jones, of course. We met the other night, when your nephew was still here.”
“Who?”
“Miss Jones.”
“Ah, yes.” Up came the spectacles; she gave me the up-and-down. “Your looks are somewhat improved.”
I sank into a half curtsy. “I am dressed for tea, my lady.”
“Hmph.” She took in my frock and was apparently none too pleased that she couldn’t find fault with it. I’d chosen my best day dress—the best I’d been able to find ready-made in the village, that is—which was collared and beribboned and utterly inoffensive. Even the color was inoffensive, a bland shade caught somewhere between gray and dun.
“What is it you want, young lady? As you can see, I’m busy.”
“Why, only to sit a while with you.”
She heard that well enough, and smiled in triumph. “Alas. There is but one chair, and I am in it.”
“True,” I said breezily. “So I’ll just rest here against the railing, if you don’t mind.”
Her lip curled; she ate chippies like me for breakfast. “But I do.”
“No.” I scooted until I was very close, close enough to lean down and capture her eyes and speak darkly, deliberately. “No, you don’t mind.”
“No,” she confirmed, with faint, offended disbelief. “I … I don’t.”
A butterfly landed on the beveled rim of the sherry glass, a teal-and-brown striped tigress. Her wings opened and closed and opened, absorbing the sun.
“Lady Clayworth, listen carefully. You have a cousin. A dear, dear cousin who’s taken ill. You must go to her at once.”
“Oh, my,” she said, her brows wrinkling.
“You will find her back at your own home. And that is where you will go. Tell me, where is your home?”
“Tewkesbury. Just north of the Severn. Oh, my. Oh, my.”
“You’ll find her there. What is her name?”
“It’s … is it Gracie? Is it my own Gracie?”
“Yes. Gracie needs you, but you do not feel quite right about going there alone. You need me to come along as your companion. Do you understand? You’ve invited me to come with you. To stay with you. Until Gracie is better.”
“Oh, I’m so grateful you can come,” she said, and took my hand.
I patted hers lightly. “One does hate to travel alone these days.”
Lottie nodded, and the canaries on her hat nodded with her. “One does hate to travel alone.”
“We’ll leave on tomorrow’s train. Is that time enough for you to be packed?”
“Yes. I shall have the maids attend to it at once! My Gracie!”
“Very good.” I reached around her and grabbed two sandwiches, sending the butterfly aloft. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy your meal.”
I’d bought a new travel case when I’d gotten my new clothes, an arbitrary purchase, like all the rest. The sleepy fishing village that served Tranquility wasn’t precisely known for its haute couture, and I’d had to make do with whatever was available. But at least all my garments now fit, and the case was sturdy, if ugly, with leather sides and thick-stitched seams and brass brads holding everything together along the edges. It looked as if it might survive a sinking ship.
Perhaps it’d have to.
“Eleanore Jones. I think we ought to have a chat.”
I looked up from folding a blouse over my bed, discovering Sophia sauntering past the door.
“I thought ladies knew to knock before entering someone else’s boudoir.”
“That eliminates the element of surprise.” She was dressed for dinner in the sort of gown that wouldn’t be for sale around here in a million years, a long black satin sheath, tight metallic lacework over the bodice and sleeves.
Dinner. The clock on the desk informed me I was about to miss it; my stomach growled.
In perfect counterpoint, a rumble of thunder came from beyond the windows. It was miles off still, but the sky above Tranquility had gone a bubbly deep soot, leaving only a feeble, jaundiced wedge of light stuck between the sea and clouds.
Sometimes I heard that rumble and it wasn’t thunder at all. It was the sound of the Germans bombing cities and towns far, far down the coast, a sound that only I could perceive. But tonight it was just thunder.
Rain was coming. Bad timing, but it was too late to s
witch things up now.
“What is it?” I asked absently, realizing I was going to need to change my dress yet again. Morning dresses, tea dresses, dinner dresses, dance dresses, different wraps and hats and gloves for each … I was beginning to understand what upper-class women did all day.
My armoire was empty. I’d already packed nearly everything, so I went back to the case and began to rummage through it.
“I understand you’re leaving us soon.”
“Uh … yes. I’m afraid so.”
Sophia reclined sideways along the settee against the windows, ankles crossed, one arm slung over the top. She looked like she was posing for a painting.
“Accompanying Lottie Clayworth to Tewkesbury?”
“That’s right.”
“To help with her sick cousin Gracie.”
There. A jade brocade number. That would do. I grabbed it, shook it out with both hands.
“Not sure how much help I’ll actually be,” I said, working at its buttons. “But when she asked, I thought it was the least I could do.”
“How generous of you.” Something in her tone warned me at last; I glanced up, and she gave her sly cat’s smile. “But, say, here’s a quandary, Eleanore. Charlotte Clayworth doesn’t have any living cousins. Not a single one.”
Damn.
I returned to the buttons, nonchalant. “I don’t think that’s right. She was very specific about it. Perhaps she meant a second cousin, something like that.”
“I’ve known the Clayworths my whole life. There was a Gracie, as it happens, but it turns out she died about forty years ago.”
Damn, damn.
I took a breath. “Perhaps this is—”
“I looked it up in Standish’s Peerage of the Empire to be sure. Lottie is the last of her line. And since she’s going on and on about her dear cousin and dear Miss Jones who’s going to help her, and what a relief it will be not to have to travel alone, I find myself pondering what, exactly, is going on. Are you thinking of robbing her?”
My jaw dropped. “What did you just say?”
